Reflection
by Raintag
Summary: Of course they didn't die for me to feel this way! They weren't ever meant to die – I was! (Originally posted on Tumblr as a self-prompt because I'm an awful writer and I can. Rated for self-loathing and mentions of death.)


**Hello again. This just sort of happened without me really planning it to. (*whispers*)** ** _Sorry if you're getting sick of me by now. And sorry for the cheap wordplay in the title (wordplay it definitely is, by the way; you'll see what I mean soon enough)._**

 **I** ** _have_** **wanted to write something Jesse-centric for a while, though, because they fascinate me as a character. Hence this angst-ridden oneshot that started out as a self-imposed Tumblr prompt fill of sorts for the line "They weren't ever meant to die –** ** _I_** **was!".**

 **To make a long story short (pun _very_ much intended), the next 1000 or so words will be steeped in guilt, references to death, etc. You have now been duly warned. I hope you guys who haven't already seen this on my sideblog like it anyway.**

* * *

The light in the room had been steadily declining into shadowy grey for at least twenty minutes now. Or had it been over an hour? Either way, Jesse couldn't say she cared, let alone find it within herself to switch on any of the redstone lights strung around her bedroom.

Even so, she could still just about make out her reflection in the mirror not quite directly across from her. Sitting on the edge of the bed that hadn't been the setting of a decent rest in who knew how long, hunched to the point where she was nearly curled in on herself, pink hairpin askew, one eye almost shrouded by her limp tresses as a result and the other eye looking bloodshot and baggy and just _wrong_. Almost as though she was dead.

(Dead like she should've been. Dead like she _would've_ been if she hadn't had her friends standing resolutely by her side, like she would've been if Reuben and Ellegaard and Lizzie and, Hell, _Romeo_ and everyone she'd hurt by being stupid enough to let Axel take Ivor's potion all those years ago without having the first idea what it was for and whoever else she'd ended up getting killed hadn't been there to take the fall for her.)

How anyone could look at something like that and see a hero in a shrunken kid was beyond Jesse.

She'd have to make sure she made an effort to tidy herself up before she could bring herself to face the others. They deserved better than to see her in this state.

They deserved better than her, full stop.

Jesse pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth in an attempt to keep the sobs from escaping. One, small and dry and weak as it was, snuck past anyway as she drew her knees up to her chest and dropped her head onto them, closing her sore eyes for the briefest of moments before reminding herself that she didn't deserve peaceful rest. Not until she figured out what she was going to do.

Her friends, her _family_ , tried to understand. They really tried, in ways that made Jesse wonder what she did to earn their love, support and comfort. But they _didn't_ understand. If they did, they wouldn't say what they said every time Jesse was careless enough to voice what was dragging itself through her cluttered mind over and over again.

 _"That wasn't your fault, Jesse. None of it, okay? I promise you."_

 _I'm the common denominator in all of those situations. What else could that mean?_

 _"You do your best, Jesse."_

 _Since when has my best ever been good enough?_

 _"Reuben, Ellegaard, Lizzie, even Romeo...I'm sure they didn't die for you to feel that way, Jesse."_

 _Of course they didn't die for me to feel this way! They weren't ever meant to die –_ I _was!_

Jesse didn't realise she'd said that last part out loud until she noticed that her mouth was slightly open. She cast the door a quick glance, but fortunately the words hadn't been more than a mutter. Her family shouldn't have to hear things like that. She'd put them through more than enough already without starting up with talk about how the only place she should be ruling over was six feet deep and made of wood.

One of her hands floated up to trace a long scar on her shoulder, other hand remaining where it was, fingernails digging deep into the palm, smudging the blankets it was twisted in with blood. Her lips twitched up, but there was no mirth in her. Aiden hadn't been wrong, really, long ago. Just what kind of hero (friend, _person_ ) was she?

One that could _so_ easily have been dead _(and wouldn't it have been simpler for just about everyone if she was?)_ , whose heart was only still beating through the sacrifices of other people or just sheer dumb luck, that's what. One that _had_ died, fleetingly, but apparently couldn't even do _that_ right. One that was ultimately powerless to protect anyone – her own family, innocent strangers, even her best friend, her piggy, who'd believed in her so much more than she'd ever merited, hadn't been safe from his human's ability to wreck everything she touched.

Jesse had it all. She had a beloved, thriving city that needed a leader. She had a loyal intern who, for whatever reason, thought the world of her. She had an incredible, wonderfully ragtag makeshift family (she really could not ask for better) to whom she owed a happy face the next time she came face-to-face with one of them.

But right at that moment, all that was there to see her were those four walls and the mirror that showed too much and not enough at the same time.

* * *

"Jesse, I've been meaning to ask you; what was that smashing noise last night? I thought a mob was breaking in at first."

"Oh, _that_. That was my mirror."

"...Your mirror?"

Her smile flickered almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, I...I just knocked against it by accident. It ended up cracked all across the middle." she replied breezily.

And surreptitiously shook her (longer than usual) sleeves down further over her scratched, bruised knuckles.

After all, she could hardly tell the truth and let them all down yet again, could she?

At least _she_ was the one suffering for once.

* * *

 **...I'm not entirely sure how in-character this inner monologue was or whether or not it was melodramatic or meandering or-**

 **(*deep breath*) Well, I guess it's up to you guys. Good? Bad? Stick to converting oxygen into carbon dioxide because it's the only thing I'm any good at? Let me know. See you soon!**

 **(*awkwardly tips hat*)**

 **~ Rainy**


End file.
